


Cocktober 20: Scars AKA I Know I Look Good

by Glitter_Bug



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy's recovery, Blow Jobs, Drabble, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Just lots of self indulgent waffle really, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Scars, Swearing, not really a fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27123034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitter_Bug/pseuds/Glitter_Bug
Summary: Billy quite likes his scars.So does Steve.He likes people to stare. Likes to hear them whisper.And Steve tells him he’s right to be proud. That he saved the girl, saved the town, probably the world. Calls him brave and a hero. Calls him good and badass in the same breath. Calls him “so damn hot baby, look at you,” whenever he runs a hand over them.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 12
Kudos: 106
Collections: Cocktober Prompt Meme





	Cocktober 20: Scars AKA I Know I Look Good

**Author's Note:**

> Oh this is pure waffle.  
> Just...go with it. At least it's short!

Billy quite likes his scars.

He likes the ones left by the Mindflayer, likes the way they look; the large white sunburst on his chest, the jagged white lines tracing a path outwards, spreading across his stomach and his hips, down his arms and onto his hands. There’s no denying that they make him look badass and damn right they should, he fought off a fucking monster with nothing more than his own bare hands and he has something to show for it. 

He thinks about a girl he knew in Cali, some surfer with a ragged shark bite on her thigh. Remembers how she’d wear the shortest shorts, the bite always on display, terrifying the little kids with their dinky boards all lined up on the beach.

Billy remembers wondering why she never covered it up, why she didn’t want to hide it.

He gets it now. 

He likes seeing people notice them, seeing their faces change as they try to make sense of his patchwork quilt. He gets a kick from their curiosity and discomfort, the way people try to look without looking, the sideways glances, the way their eyes suddenly dart away when they’ve been spotted, focusing on something else, anything else.

It probably shouldn’t come as a surprise to him, the desire to be seen, to shock.Billy thinks it comes from the same place that made him crank his music up until it hurt his ears, made him rev his engine and wear his jeans tight and his shirts open.

He likes people to stare. Likes to hear them whisper. 

And Steve tells him he’s right to be proud. That he saved the girl, saved the town, probably the world. Calls him brave and a hero. Calls him good and badass in the same breath. Calls him “so damn hot baby, look at you,” whenever he runs a hand over them. 

Billy doesn’t mind his other scars either, the ones not from the Mindflayer and its tentacles. The array of surgical ones from whatever Frankenstein bullshit the medics had to pull to save him, to get the last of the black goo out of his body, to fix the damage done by chlorine and bleach. 

Steve was there to help with it all. To help when Billy’s body was too sore, too raw, too tender to move. Was there when he cried with the pain of it, held his hands to stop him scratching the maddening itch as they healed, soothed them with creams and lotions when they burned.

These scars are thinner, shorter, straighter, than the others- less dramatic- but Billy’s proud of them anyway. He likes the way they’ve covered up the older marks, the ones left by the lash of a belt or the press of a cigarette, as though he’s been rewritten from victim to hero. Billy likes the idea being remade, redrafted- torn apart and then sewn back together and let loose on the world. He likes the fact that Steve is there beside him now, sewn in to him just as tightly. 

There’s only one scar that Billy hates, and it’s the one right on Steve Harrington's hairline.  
Billy gives it special attention whenever he peppers Steve’s hair with kisses. He makes sure to acknowledge it, not to shy away from the reminder of who he was, the reminder of a boy who was trained to lash out, who could only hurt and break even when he wanted to hold and kiss. A boy built out of rage and fear and pain. He was broken before he could be mended, and Billy doesn't want to take that for granted.  
So he kisses Steve's scar, and he apologises for it. With words and with actions and with promises.  
And he knows that Steve forgives him every time. Knows that he has and does and always will.

Because Billy’s favourite part about his scars is the way that Steve will follow their zigzagging path with his tongue. Likes the way that Steve’s caresses don’t stop when the scars end, the fact that he’ll keep going, will keep on kissing past Billy’s hips, down his thighs, tongue flicking right into the crease, then he’ll stop- teasing just for a second- and lower his head to Billy’s crotch, will lap at Billy’s cock, will take it in his mouth and just _worship_ it, tongue swirling round, flattening against the head, the very tip just lapping at the slit. Taking it all in and pressing his nose into those coarse hairs at the base, just holding it there, waiting and warming it, Steve’s eyes gazing up at Billy with utter devotion, like he’s the one doing Steve a favour. 

But Billy doesn’t always get hard, not anymore- the cocktail of medicines he’s on has a list of side-effects longer than his right arm- but Steve doesn’t care about that. Billy had told him it still felt good, so Steve still does it. Still fills his mouth with Billy’s soft cock and suckles on it, rolls his tongue around it like he’s savouring it. Will stay there until Billy starts to run his fingers through Steve’s hair, until Billy draws him up and lowers himself down, switching their positions, Billy eager to return all of the kisses, all of the worship, that Steve’s been honouring him with. 

Steve’s body doesn’t have the roadmap that Billy’s does, so Billy finds his own route down, plots his own course and gets lost for days in the darkness of Steve’s chest hair, the hard nubs of his nipples, the firm planes of his stomach. Billy intends to map them all, leaving kisses like breadcrumbs to follow back later.

And Billy’s spent a lot of time learning what Steve likes. Learnt just how to use his hands and his mouth on Steve’s cock, how to flick his tongue along the head and move his hands just so, a little twist of the wrist that will have Steve arching his back off the bed and moaning out in a litany of pleasure. Learnt that he can get Steve off in minutes if he runs the palm of his hand over Steve’s balls, or can keep him shuddering on the edge of pleasure with a series of kitten licks and gentle taps of his finger tips. 

And then later, when they’re both sweaty and sated and dopey, when they’re both lying close, heads pillowed on arms and lazy fingers drawing patterns on skin, following red and white lines, they’ll talk. Sometimes it’s about nothing, about what to make for dinner or where to go at the weekend or when Steve will finally get around to putting up that shelf _‘like you promised a month ago.’_ To which Steve will grin and remind Billy just how handsy he got when he saw Steve in a toolbelt wielding a hammer, and exactly _why_ that shelf is still propped up against the wall. Simple things that come with living together. Easy things.

But sometimes they talk about something deeper. Things said in hushed tones and rough voices. About a pampered childhood turning into a lonely adolescence. About having a role dumped on your head and having to live up to it. About heartbreak and _bullshit_ and never feeling like you’re gonna be enough for anyone. About sleeping with a bat under the bed and all the lights still on. About not making a plan for the future because you honestly can’t see yourself living to see it.  
  
And Billy knows a lot about scars.

Knows that Steve’s got just as many on his heart as Billy has on his body, knows that Steve’s go even deeper. 

And he knows that Steve’s scars can’t be kissed away or soothed with creams or shown off as evidence of how damn far he’s come, even though he _has._ Even though he should be just as proud as Billy. Because he’s just as strong, just as good. Just as badass.

So Billy knows that he’s gonna spend his whole life helping Steve to heal from them. Just like Steve does for him. 

Because Billy quite likes his scars, but he fucking loves Steve Harrington.

  
  


  
  



End file.
